


Blindest Shade of Trust

by r_e



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Cooking, Domesticity, Jack built a house, Jack is a Duke, M/M, Magic, Magical Creature!Lindsay, Magical Creature!Michael, Miscommunication, Multi, Slow Burn, established Jack/Ryan/Geoff/Gavin/Jeremy, like fuckin glacial, michael is a dumbass, they're all dumbasses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-31 09:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10896228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_e/pseuds/r_e
Summary: What do you get when you trap a disabled demony type, a duke who just wants people to be happy, a disgruntled quartermaster, two mages unalike in dignity, and a guardsman into close quarters with a magical winter? Well, not this, certainly; the order's wrong. But you get the idea.--A comedy of errors as six idiots survive the winter, with or without the help of their friends.





	1. Prologue - How Much Exposition Can A Man Cram Down

**Author's Note:**

> This started off a prompt from [Espileon707](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Espileon707) last summer, of "Palace, Dawn, Glasses, AHOT6". Then they said I wasn't allowed to kill anyone. It's slated to be 12 chapters + a prologue of exposition, 5 of which are written. My aim is to update weekly, but you've read a fanfiction before you know that's not how it works.
> 
> Tags will be updated as the story progresses for characters and content, though I foresee no major changes or additions on the latter.

Duke Jack Patillo was proud to maintain Outlook, and oversee the preparations for the yearly darkness. Winters were always a challenge; the stockpiling of supplies, the physical and magical reinforcements to the palisade, the sigils that must be traced over every entrance to the compound behind the palisade. All before the dusk after fall cross-quarter. There would be no venturing beyond a marked door unarmed, and few would be permitted to cross outside the palisade and live. Not by choice of those within, but by the horrors without.

The Outlook fief was the last holding in the eastern lands before the great Aglost mountain range, and was the first to fall to darkness as the planet turned to winter times. As soon as the first Shade was sighted flickering out in the hills, runners were sent to the villages to the north and south, and westward to the city of Nine Rivers.

Preparing for the winter wasn't easy, for those that took the path of sylph or for those that remained grounded in the physical plane as a warning and defense against the Shades and wraiths and sylphs, or others that rode in to claim the temporarily untended lands. To the fief's name, there was a staff of twenty, all-told, who kept it in solid condition over winter. Jack's right-hand and chief of staff, Geoff Ramsey, was suitably overworked in the months leading up to the first night, rarely available for so much as a loving gaze as resources had to be allocated around the fief. Caleb kept calling him in to the infirmary to insist upon the number of bandages and volume of cure-all he could reasonably stock. Jack had heard many a time the rants, that "Gavin can just mix more, it takes like ten seconds, why won't he get off my back about it we need fucking fuel to heat this damn place. Bandages can't fucking cure frostbite!"

In counterpoint, Gavin had been easily accessible as he clung to Jeremy and the rest of the caravan crew, making himself a nuisance during their preparations. For all Jack would trust none but Ryan to the defense of the keep, Jeremy was easily the most skilled fighter of his inner circle. So it fell to the young man to spearhead the caravan guard both to Nine Rivers, and back, laden with supplies and good faith from King Burns. A side effect of becoming involved with the only people you could really trust meant that, when it came time to trust them again, they might also be stuck in the capital for half the winter's darkness. None of the five of them liked the system, but they admitted it was necessary.

Ryan, Geoff, and Jack would at least have weekly meetings to update on the palisade's defences, and the guard rotation within the keep. Geoff and Ryan always had a spat of some proportion regarding the distribution of staff; Ryan insisting that the four of them that remained grounded in the winter were not enough to keep the palace protected in the schedule Geoff wanted them to maintain, and Geoff insistent that they couldn't afford another mouth to feed, "not with how many Burnie keeps sending in his goddamn 'good faith'." Jack was growing weary of talking down the pair of his lovers before anything truly hurtful was spread.

At long last it was the week before the fateful dusk, and the caravan had to get started for the capital if they planned to make it before the winter set in. With many a goodbye kiss, Jack and the other three of their relationship remaining in the keep wished him well in the travels, for safety before they were able to summon their harnessed Shade as protection on the road back. Lindsay was nice, as Shades went, and less bitter than usual for one that the grounded humans insisted using for protection. She even made a joke or two every now and then; jokes that didn't end with bloodshed.

 

* * *

 

Jack sighed as he watched the last armoured figure disappear on the horizon. He had been watching them from the top of the wall with Ryan, as Geoff and Gavin conducted what they swore was a quality control survey of the store-room and kitchens. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder and, smiling, he turned and leant in to the strong chest that presented itself. Ryan finished pulling him into a hug and they stood there in silence for a time.

Eventually, he pulled away and stared into his lover's eyes, mismatched as they were. Ryan smiled as Jack idly brought up a hand to trace the socket around the onyx replacement. It was almost fully red as the darkness of the winter loomed, and the faint trace of black reflecting from the back and visible on the outer edge threatened to wane at any moment.

"It's only for a month and a half," Ryan murmured, blinking slowly as Jack dropped his hand. Jack grimaced.

"I know that, I just..."

"Worry?"

"Always."

They lingered for a while longer along the rampart, until the sounds of a commotion in the courtyard brought them down.


	2. Chapter 1 - And You Thought It Was A Metaphor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Michael Jones, bear-fighting extraordinaire. Unfortunately he's blind as shit. Also has no real concept of human social norms, but that's okay. Humans are stupid and smelly anyway.
> 
> Now if only he could find some chill...

Michael wasn't a young Shade, not by a long shot, but he also wasn't very old. He'd only happened for the last fifty winters, and had been quite content to just mess around in the mountains with his friends and not really bother any of the humans that insisted on staying in their houses. The sylphs were annoying and the wraiths had a bad sense of humour, but that never really got in the way of his fun. In fact a few years ago the only wraith that was really making things difficult had up and vanished, no one really knew where to, so Michael and Lindsay just sort-of high-fived it out before finding some bears to wrestle.

The last couple years had sucked, though. The humans that insisted on staying humans were always finding new ways to stay corporeal, and _boring_ , and as they kept things in the physical plane safer, more and more humans were deciding to become sylphs instead of toughing it out. He didn't mind the sylphs because he could just ignore them, but what Michael couldn't ignore was how the humans thought that was a _bad_ thing. They'd discovered a way to snag a Shade just at the beginning of the darkness and keep 'em in a contraption that would ward away sylphs and wraiths pretty effectively and make another Shade nearby have some trouble. Of fucking course the Shade the closest humans kept grabbing was Lindsay, leaving Michael without a friend to mess with the environment he only got to see every so often. Even using the term 'see' fairly loosely. Michael's eyes weren't what they used to be, and they started off pretty shit. It's not like he ever had anywhere else to go but float in nothingness until the next winter rolled around, but still.

The first snowfall had been two nights ago, for all those could be distinguished from the days, and Michael nearly fell flat on his face a good eight times walking through the empty clearing. A completely empty clearing on flat, even ground, that cut through the forest for miles. Cursing to himself, Michael stood shakily brushing snowflakes off his exposed arms. With nothing better to do, and no spotter for bear fights, he shrugged and traipsed along the edge of the clearing, seeing where it would take him.

As he walked, the clearing didn't appear to end and started sloping downwards the farther west he walked. More and more sylphs were apparent as Michael kept on through the clearing, but never so many that he had to bat them away. A face-full of ungrounded human was never fun, and he'd been picking their incorporeal fluff out of his teeth for half a month after the last time. As the sylphs increased, so too did the wraiths. Michael wished each malevolent spirit a hearty "Fuck off!" whenever one considered messing with him, and they did, out of proper respect for the ten winter running former bear wrestling champion. It wouldn't be former if the fucking humans hadn't nabbed Lindsay, but they did and he was a little less great at bear wrestling when he didn't have someone else's eyes on the crowd.

Eventually the trees thinned out and the clearing leveled, allowing Michael to come upon some tilled farmland, sprinkled with sylphs. He snickered at the farmers who didn't want to stay grounded, drifting sadly over their fields. It's not like they could've protected anything when they were solid, and now if they kept lingering there a wraith was really going to mess up their shit. Michael kept following the clearing though, curious about its differing colour from the rest of the ground. He'd stumbled over this clearing a few times before, but he had always had more interesting things to do. No bear wrestling, and no Lindsay, meant he'd been pretty bored for the last few winters. Idly, he fussed with the bearskin he still had with him from the last championship.

"Hey! Don't come any closer!"

Michael blinked, and stopped. Who the hell was talking to him?

"Get out of here!"

When the voice came again, Michael squinted at what was probably the farmhouse. A small handful of sylphs were clustered near it, but one of them wasn't the unearthly white and clear that sylphs were supposed to be. Confused, he took a step forward.

"Chill, dude, I'm just wandering around, keep your damn pants on."

"Leave me alone, wraith!"

Now that was just insulting.

"I'm not a wraith, I'm a motherfucking Shade, bitch!" he screamed across the field at them. When the human didn't do anything like fucking _apologize_ , Michael charged over the uneven ground to get closer to their shelter. Naturally, the human screamed, and Michael grinned. "Wanna call me 'wraith' again, asshole?" he taunted. The human screamed again, and Michael winced at the shrillness of the sound, for all he'd been prepared for it. What he had not been prepared for was the stick flying uncomfortably close to his head, nicking the top of his ear. He hissed, and there was more screaming. That really wasn't fucking necessary, and he told the farmer as much.

A few screams, sobs, whimpers, and a sucking chest wound later, Michael perched on the fence outside the house. He was nursing bruised knuckles, one hell of a concussion, and a whole lot of someone else's blood on his clothes and hair and bearskin. Maybe a little of his own. "Who's dangerous now, dipshit," he asked the shaking bloody mass. After a moment, he came down, and blinked at his surroundings. That... may not have been the best idea he'd ever had. That was just a farmer, but someone else who actually knew what they were doing wouldn't be very happy about the mess he'd made. "Too late to do anything about it," he muttered, and in a rhythmic falling motion he got back onto the clearing. Though the part where it went through the little farmsteads probably meant it was a road.

"What's the fucking difference," he spat, feeling a loosened tooth reslotting itself safely into his gums.

Walking alone, covered in human blood, during what counted as nights when you never really saw the sun, may have not been the second best idea he'd ever had. The horizon had darkened through the cloud that let Shades manifest by only a few tones when a clot of wraiths saw fit to jump him. Again, Michael fought them off, but this was a much closer fight. He'd gotten them down to a much smaller handful, younger ones that saw his snarl and realized he was a much bigger fish than they wanted to take.

"Yeah, you better fucking run!" he called after them as they faded out to go somewhere else. Michael groaned, and reevaluated his injuries. Sucking chest wound aside, his concussion may have lost all repair that his body had managed since the bout with the farmer, and there were definitely more cuts and bruises littering his skin and clothes than there had been before. "Shit," he wheezed, sucking chest wound finally catching up to him. Michael was in a lot of pain, and it probably would be his best chance to just hunker down for the night in the ditch next to the road and wait for his injuries to heal up. Michael was not famous for taking his best chances. Ahead of him along the road, maybe a good couple-hundred yards out, were some lights. In front of those lights was what looked like a little shiny wall, and if Michael knew anything it was that shiny walls were better on the inside of than the out.

The shiny wall was farther away than it had looked, but Michael was nothing if not determined. It was also less shiny, up close, and a whole lot out of focus, but that may have been Michael's shit eyes and concussion working against him. Most of the blood on him had dried and the blood that should have been _in_ him had largely evaporated by the time he reached it. Something hurt more being near to the wall, but frankly that was probably a bone or joint or something coming a little bit more loose the longer he walked on it. Goddamn wraiths, trying to screw him over. He could take twenty of 'em.

There wasn't an obvious way in to the wall, but that might have been because he'd lost the road a while ago. Shrugging, Michael backed up a few paces and charged it, jumping at the last second. As soon as his hands latched on to the top of the--now clearly wooden with metal reinforcements--wall, his whole arms lit up in pain. Groaning, he heaved himself over, hoping the liquid on his palms was paint, and came crashing down on the other side. Fuck wraiths, this was way worse. Every injury on his body throbbed tenfold, he'd landed wrong on his ankles and side on the inside of the walls, and his sucking chest wound had reopened. "Fuck wraiths," he muttered. Well, he tried to mutter. He might have screamed, just a bit. He didn't care, though, this seemed like a good spot to just sort-of... stop. Everything hurt so much. Staring up at the cloud that kept him in the physical world, Michael remembered to close his eyes before he finished blacking out.

* * *

"Holy shit," were the words that welcomed Michael back to consciousness. Nothing was notably more healed than it had been when he'd gone unconscious, so he couldn't have been out so long. Still, that voice hurt. Not as much as anything else, but enough to remind him to be annoyed.

"Right back at you." His voice might have been wavering a little too much for a solid comeback. It was alright, he could punch this bastard when he regained control of his arm.

"I should probably be asking how you got in at all, but how did you get in with, well," the voice came closer. Michael could barely make out a hand-shaped thing wave over him. "That."

"Hey, I work out," Michael managed, sounding slightly more sure of himself. He could feel the concussion healing by degrees, and his vision cleared up to only twice as bad as normal. That being said, he still couldn't get anything useful about the source of the voice, only that it was towering over him now and was wearing some kind of armour. There was a glowing red bit and the echo of a wraith, but Michael couldn't tell if that was something he was really seeing or not. "Can I like, help you with something?" he bit out, conveniently timed with one of his ribs pulling back into place. The figure shook its head slowly, and the voice came again.

"Let me get you into the keep." Michael didn't protest when the arms of the voice came closer, bringing the figure's torso into something approximating focus. It was one hell of a concussion. The shining red thing wasn't his imagination, though, which distracted him enough for the figure to do most of the work in picking him up.

"Put me down, asshole," he slurred through the pain of being moved. Healing skin did not typically enjoy being tugged around, and structural tissue damage liked it even less.

"I'll tell everyone you put up more of a fight," the voice compromised, holding tighter across his shoulders to counteract his struggling. Michael was preparing an ideal retort when sleep claimed him again. It had been one helluva day.

* * *

Waking up again was not the most fun Michael had ever had. The world around him was way too bright, and while his injuries had largely cleared up he was still too sore to even try to be civil. "...the hell am I doing here," he groaned, squinting as the light masses solidified into walls and sconces. Michael hadn't been to civilization in ages, and it hadn't improved. Well, it might've improved, he was lying on something cushy. Something very cushy.

"Well, you're certainly healing." Michael's eyes snapped open. It hadn't finished occurring to him, not really, that if he was inside and on something and there was that fucking _light_ , then there would probably be some humans around. He tried to sit up, and managed for the most part, and he felt something shoved up against his back as he made progress to help him up.

"Thanks," he spat, trying to get a clearer look at his surroundings, thanks to his new non-horizontal status. Being inside with humans meant they'd probably not realized he was a Shade yet, stupid fucks. Remembering the farmer and the wraiths, Michael shuddered. Probably best to not rile them up given the day he'd been having.

"Don't mention it," the human waved him off. "What were you doing climbing over the walls? The gate was right next to you, not like anyone would've turned you away at this time of night if you could get through the gap." Michael shrugged.

"Wasn't thinking very clearly; I think I was sorta concussed, idiot?" The human threw up their hands.

"Sorry!" they protested. "It's not like we bloody saved you or anything."

Michael scoffed. "Saved me?" The human nodded. "I would have been fine, just show me to the door and I'll be out of here." The human made some sound that Michael couldn't dignify with calling a screech.

"You would have been fine?! When Ryan carried you in, I thought Caleb was going to have a stroke! We never see anyone covered in that much blood still breathing, let alone still struggling against fully armoured men carrying them." Michael shrugged.

"Pretty typical." It couldn't hurt to posture with the human. Maybe if he made these people think he was dangerous they'd just sort-of ignore the part where he was almost totally fine again without any questions. Looking around, Michael registered that he was in a wide, if narrow, room, and there were a quarter dozen more of whatever he was lying on on either side. There were cupboards on the far wall, and as the last strains of his head wound let him be he made out the distinct angles of a propped-open door. No sylphs, though, which puzzled him a little. In every building he'd been in there'd always been a couple; some folks just didn't want to go very far from where they lived in the lighter, warmer months.

"Guess Ryan should've just left you out there to freeze, then."

"Guess he should've," Michael agreed. This screechy human just kept finding more annoying things to say. He and the human staunchly looked in opposite directions for a few more minutes, before Michael sighed. "Look, sorry, I think we got off on the wrong foot." The human glanced at him and didn't respond. "I appreciate it, or whatever, I'm trying to be civil here." That got a laugh.

"I suppose I could pretend you didn't throw our kindness in my face, and you really said 'Oh, Gavin, thank you so much for nursing me back to health, I don't know what I would've done withou--'"

"Alright, I get it, God, calm down." The prattle was starting to renew his headache. Everything still hurt, a little bit. "Just like, where am I and shit." The crestfallen human--Gavin, the name was Gavin--perked up.

"You're in the infirmary!" Michael rolled his eyes.

"I meant what place is this, dumbass." Gavin sniggered.

"Outlook fief," he declared. Michael blinked. That should probably have meant something to him, but he'd only ever heard the name in passing as wraiths complained to one another of past bindings. Maybe it's where that one douchebag, Edgar, supposedly vanished? He shrugged.

"Cool." Gavin looked pleased, and Michael stopped holding himself up and let his body sink down onto the cushion provided. Next to him, Gavin fidgeted. "What," he spat. The human was getting more annoying by the second.

"What's your favourite colour," Gavin asked, sounding quite proud of himself.

"The fuck?" Michael demanded.

"Well, what is it?"

"I'm too fucking blind for this shit." Gavin jumped in surprise.

"What? But you're-- you're looking right at me?"

Michael growled at him. "Yeah, and you're like a fuzzy light patch that keeps moving or some shit; hard not to." Gavin shrunk back a little, and Michael might have winced. He'd been exaggerating a little bit; he could see Gavin's face okay enough, enough to see his wounded expression. "Maybe it's not quite that bad, but it's still not something I think about..." he trailed off. Gavin didn't look so hurt anymore, but he was still clearly dejected. "Oh, fuck if I know, blue or something." Gavin perked back up.

"Top! What's your favourite food?"

Michael stopped himself before he had a chance to scream _I don't need to fucking eat_ , holding his tongue impressively well with a mantra about not getting violently murdered inside this building. Instead, he wracked his brains for the name of a food item, let alone one that might be good. "Uh," he remembered the preserves that had broken when he'd downed the farmer. "Apples?"

"What's your name?" Gavin insisted, before he'd even managed to finish answering.

"Fuck do you want to know for," Michael shot back almost as fast.

"We did save you," he pointed out.

"You didn't do shit!" Michael's voice caught in his throat as the door swung farther open, and he turned away from Gavin to at least look in the direction of the newcomers. Three humans filed in, and Michael tried not to wince. Getting stabbed four times instead of three times when he inevitably fucked up was less than enticing, he reminded himself. One of the humans had a familiar glow in the cranial area, and Michael squinted extra hard in their direction until the connection between the figure standing before him and the one from the wall clicked into place.

"I seem to remember doing something..." that same voice mused. Michael coughed a laugh.

"Yeah, against my will." The figure shrugged. Probably. The lighting was shit, it wasn't all Michael's fault. The human in the middle coughed, and the familiar figure shrunk back a half step. Satisfied, the human stepped closer.

"I'm Duke Jack Patillo. I see you've been healing nicely in my infirmary." Michael scoffed.

"I would've healed just fine on the grass, too." To Michael's surprise, the Duke laughed. Yeah, he was pretty funny, but humans didn't usually laugh when Michael spoke to them, see: the farmer.

"Indeed you may have, yes. Though for our peace of mind, I'm glad Ryan brought you in." Michael glanced at the figure he recognized. Ryan waved at him, and if Michael had had a clearer view of his face he'd have seen the sarcastically pleasant expression to go with it. The intent was suitably implied, and Michael made to flip him off. He didn't get very far, though, as his entire shoulder protested the signals passing through it. That might have been what he landed on after the wall-jumping didn't turn out so great. The soft place to wait for his body to fix itself might not have been so bad.

"Thanks, I guess," he mumbled. Gavin cheered, and the human who hadn't spoken yet relaxed slightly. Slightly. They marched closer to him and gave him a thorough once over. "Need something?" he demanded. The human shook their head.

"May I ask what brought you to these grounds, last night?" the Duke prompted. Michael blinked at him.

"I ran into some wraiths a ways down the road, and saw the lights from here," he shrugged. "Seemed like a better idea to bleed out while my body fixed itself behind walls instead of in a ditch." The Duke nodded slowly. The third human tensed again.

"That was a whole lot of damage to just sleep off," they started.

"Griffon," Jack warned. Even Michael could recognize the challenge in her shoulders as she faced the lord.

"More than should be gone in a night! I know Caleb's a goddamn miracle worker but even he's not that good," Griffon insisted. The Duke said nothing, though his disapproval was almost palpable. Griffon didn't back down, but Jack seemed intent to believe the best of Michael. Michael found this very disconcerting.

"Maybe he's got some deal protecting him, like Ryan!" Gavin piped up from behind him. Michael jumped a reasonable amount at the screeching of the young man's voice, but he reigned it in. He could keep a hold of his temper, surely, even if the kid was just so fucking annoying and made Michael want to punch the daylights out of him. Instead of reacting in a reasonable fashion to Gavin's existence, Michael squinted harder at Ryan.

"Could he?" Jack demanded. Ryan shrugged.

"Hey, it's not like I know everything about Shade culture from one measly bargain," he protested. "Besides, he's clearly got some of their magic coating him; there's residue of Shade blood on his clothes." Michael looked down. Yeah, there were definitely patches of discolouration where he'd bled all over the fabric. Fair trade. Griffon looked more skeptical, if that was possible. Michael shrugged minutely. It's not like anyone had asked him anything. "He got over the wall," Ryan added after no one really reacted.

"Yeah, but Lindsay's just fine inside, too," Griffon pointed out. Michael froze for half a second. These were the dumb fucks that had Lindsay? Maybe he shouldn't get the hell out of dodge as fast as possible, instead maybe spring her once he found her. Michael's sense of self preservation was told politely to fuck the hell off when it suggested pansy-ass shit like sprinting full-tilt in the opposite direction as soon as possible. Ryan seemed interested in Griffon's suggestion, however.

"Do you think maybe their developing resistance to the sigils we use?" he mused, a little too eagerly. "Or maybe there's a counter we didn't test for..." Ryan trailed off into inane mumbling.

"Or maybe he's just a really unlucky kid that someone took pity on while trying to make it out there," Jack suggested. He seemed to be the voice of reason more often than not, even if Michael felt himself doubting some of the man's reasoning. "Don't tell me you've never helped someone while checking in with the villages," he challenged Ryan. He held up his hands in surrender.

"I may have dispensed a healing vial or recipe a couple of times," he allowed. "That enough for you, Griffon?"

"I guess."

Michael looked over his shoulder at Gavin who shrugged. If no one was going to ask him about it, that just meant Michael had longer to figure out something good to tell them instead. He really wanted to see Lindsay again.

"That's settled then," Jack declared to the other two. Calmly, he turned back to Michael. "I don't believe I caught your name earlier."

Michael swallowed. "Michael." Jack nodded.

"Well, Michael, I can't in good conscience just send you straight back out there, not in your condition." Michael was about to protest, his condition was _fine_ , especially given the warm place to recover. Then he remembered Lindsay. "I'd be pleased to offer you a place to wait out the rest of the season, at least until it stops getting colder and you've gotten the supplies you need to last," he stated, and offered a hand. Michael blinked for a moment, remembering human customs, and reached to take it; this time not with the arm that'd taken all of his weight coming off the wall.

"Thanks," he replied, significantly more sincerely this time. Griffon smirked, not just with her face but with her whole body.

"Geoff's going to throw a hissy fit," she pointed out. Ryan laughed.

"Yes, but we can tell him it's to round out the guard. He certainly didn't like the shift changes we had to make."

Jack clasped his hands together behind his back. "Settled, then." Michael leaned back against the cushions, intent to fall back asleep of his own volition for once, as the four humans filed out of the room in quiet banter. The Duke seemed tolerable, if off-putting, and as much as Michael wanted to strangle Gavin, he wanted to figure more about Ryan more. And maybe learn the best way to steer clear of Griffon; she was scary even to him.


	3. Chapter 2 - Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael gets acclimatized to keep life, slowly and awkwardly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if I'm somewhat impaired with the whole seeing-romantic-intents thing, and this is the fic about a cripplingly nearsighted Shade finding love, could you say its... the blind leading the blind?

"Here," Caleb prompted, holding out a set of undyed linens. Michael looked at them skeptically. Caleb heaved an exaggerated sigh, and continued, "There's no way what you're wearing is even remotely clean, you're going to have to send it to the wash. I don't know where exactly clothes that would fit you are. These will work, but I'm sure the Geoff can hook you up with something better. Later. After you've changed out of those rank old things." Michael looked down at what he was wearing.

"It's not that bad?" he tried, puzzling through what Caleb wanted of him. His clothes were fine, just a bit of blood on the outsides, and a few minor tears-- oh. Right. That was something humans cared about. Caleb glared at him. Hoping he looked properly chagrined, Michael accepted the offered fabric and shucked off what he'd been wearing. Caleb grinned at him once he was finished, and Michael tried not to shudder. Humans were weird.

"Now it's better!" he declared, and took Michael's old clothes, folded them, and handed them back. "Now, I don't know what you've got that let you heal so fast, but nothing can go wrong with a bit of rest. So don't overdo it, make sure you eat your greens, go see the quartermaster to rustle up better fitting clothing, and the chief of staff to find you something to do!"

Michael slid off the cot, hitting his feet lightly, and rearranged the soiled bundle under his arms. "Who's the quartermaster?" he asked, then paused. "And who's the chief of staff?" Caleb giggled.

"Geoff!"

Michael blinked. "Which one?"

"Yes!"

"Make some fucking sense, dude," he demanded.

"They're both Geoff's job; Geoff Ramsey. You'll know him when you see him, run along now," Caleb insisted, shoving him out the door.

Michael stepped out of the infirmary, clutching his shirt, trousers, and bearskin a little tighter than he'd planned. When he turned to ask just where Geoff would be, Caleb only winked, adding something about how "he finds you" as he gave Michael a little shove out the door and closed it behind him. Michael stumbled, and glanced to either side. The antechamber he'd stepped into felt huge in comparison to where he'd just been lying, but the nature of walls and a ceiling made him uncomfortable. To his right, the torchlight gave way to natural light, what little there was. On either side of him there were doors leading to other rooms, and on the opposite side he could make out what were probably more doors.

"Shit."

With no directions given, Michael shrugged and chose a door at random. Naturally, it was locked, and he tried the next one. This one let into a storeroom, and he closed it. The next rooms he tried were much the same, either locked or boring. Assuming they just lead to the outside, he didn't try the doors by the natural light. Well. This was going great. Michael wandered around the antechamber a while longer, trying door handles a few more times. Nothing changed behind them.

He was reaching to try one again, when it swung open from the other side. Fucking great. Michael growled at the human, unwilling to muster the effort to actually vocalize his distaste with the newcomer's existence. They didn't seem to think too highly of him either.

"Calm the hell down there, kid. You that whelp Ryan scraped off the ground outside?" the human spat. Michael shrugged. "Yeah, uhuh, I don't actually care."

"Great, that's two of us. Lemme through," Michael demanded, and tried to shoulder through the space the man left in the doorframe.

"Not so fast, buddy, Jack's taken a shine to you in all of seven hours so I gotta find someplace to put you." Michael blinked. The logistics talk made something click ever so slightly in his memory.

"Shit, you're Geoff, aren't you?"

"Damn straight. Michael, wasn't it?" he nodded. Geoff slung an arm around his shoulders and turned them around to go back through the door Geoff had just opened. "Nice to meet you and all that shit, cool as dicks, come with me."

Michael was lead through another assortment of rooms, briefly through a walled off courtyard open to the elements, and what largely felt like an excessively long walk that Geoff was extending to make a point. Bastard. Eventually Geoff stopped them in front of one last door, opened it, and more or less threw Michael in. He winced, not in pain as Geoff was probably going to assume, but shame. He didn't need to be getting pushed around by some inked-up human with an ego half as big as his own, and if Michael didn't want to stick this out for Lindsay he'd rip the guy's arms off.

"Thanks, asshole, I could've just walked in. Y'know, with my legs and shit." Geoff laughed. Michael was not having very good luck trying to posture with these guys, and he didn't think it was because of the injuries. Well, probably not all because of the injuries. This was the second time he'd been laughed at when he tried, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

"Yeah, but I also could've shoved you in. Which I did." Geoff went to the desk that Michael realized now he'd barely avoided ramming into, and pulled out a stack of papers and a slate. "So, what can you do?" Geoff asked, tone slightly softer.

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, we can't just give you food and a bunk without something; that looks bad," he explained. "Jack's a bleeding heart, and at least he knows he doesn't have the head for all this stuff," Geoff gestured to the papers. "So, you got any skills we could put you up in exchange for? I see Caleb's already started your bill with some clothes." Michael looked down at the fabric.

"Yeah, he wouldn't let me out of the infirmary in just my stuff."

"Sounds like Caleb," Geoff scoffed. Michael found himself smirking along, before he was able to school his features. Had to be _annoyed_ , damnit.

"I can, like, hit stuff?" Michael offered after a moment. He wasn't quite sure what humans thought would be useful that he could do and still seem like a human; he remembered the farmer and grinned, lightly stroking his bearskin. "I can hit stuff great, actually."

"Nice, I think Ryan was begging for another person on the guard roster before the cloud rolled in," Geoff mused, and scribbled something onto the slate. "Anything else? Can you cook?" Michael shrugged.

"If someone explained it to me, probably. Seems stupid, though."

"Don't insult the food, moron," Geoff cautioned, brandishing the chalk. "We need that shit."

"Easy there, fuck, just a joke," Michael sputtered hastily. Geoff grinned at him.

"I know, dipshit." It was starting to seem like there was no winning with this guy. Granted, it didn't exactly feel like Michael was losing, either. This might not be so bad.

"I could cook shit maybe, or just stand there being useless until someone throws me out," he compromised with a grimace. Geoff nodded and lightly scratched out something Michael hoped correlated to his answer on the slate. He should probably learn to read.

"You didn't really have much on you when Ryan dragged you in," Geoff started, changing the subject wildly. Michael floundered, and looked down. Oh, right. Humans needed like, food and _weapons_ and shit when they went out. "Arms out." Dumbstruck, Michael did as he was commanded, setting down his wad of clothing first. Geoff looked him up and down, and sighed. He turned to the shelves behind him and started grabbing baskets out seemingly at random. Michael felt a little silly with his hands hovering in the air, but Geoff hadn't exactly told him to stop; as far as he could tell, Geoff hadn't really done anything with that information.

"So, uh, can I put my arms down yet?" Geoff stopped what he was doing and stared at him.

"What? Of course, yeah, what the hell you still got 'em up for anyways?" Michael dropped them and antsily started tapping his thighs. This was. So boring.

Eventually Geoff had collected what he needed and thrust the new pile at Michael. He took it, and Geoff added another bunch of chalk to the slate. "Sorry about what you've already got, Caleb doesn't know shit." He gestured to the ill-fitting veritable tent Michael had on for a shirt and the trousers that might've fit were he child-sized. If he'd ever been child sized. "C'mon, let's get you set up."

Geoff lead him out of his office, this time allowing Michael to make his own pace as Geoff's hands were full with the slate he'd been using. They walked back across the hall and through the armoury. Michael was pretty sure that's what it was called, at any rate, even without much armour on the walls. There were a fuckton of swords though. Through another two doors, and Geoff motioned for him to go first. Inside was a long curved room, with a few beds in view and chests and shelving lining the walls. Michael couldn't see where it ended, but that didn't mean shit.

"This whole room--yes I know it's really an extended hallway--is staff housing, we're in the barracks on this side. Well, they like to call it that..." Geoff rambled on. Michael looked around again. It seemed like all of the bunks within eye shot were lived in, given the state of the sheets and the knives poking every which way from at least half of the shelves. "...Griffon's gonna hand them their asses if they keep that up, but I don't mind as long they don't requisition any more." Oh. Geoff was also talking about the knives.

"Glad you're job's easy enough for you, but like, where should I put this shit?" Michael cut in. Geoff narrowed his eyes at him.

"Fine. Don't listen to me bare my fucking feelings to you or some shit," he grumbled. "This way."

He walked deeper into the room, more of a prolonged closet as he thought about it. They passed another set of doors, and Michael felt a chill whisper through them. At least he had access to the outside while he was in here; the walls had been slowly creeping in on him. Something about having a ceiling. On the other side, Michael was finally able to make out a terminal wall and doorframe; not before a stairwell had been crammed in, of course. Geoff stopped him, and pointed at an empty cot.

"That one or the one next to it are free, don't fuck with anyone else's shit, don't be a dick to your new roommates, you get the picture." Michael nodded, and dropped the bundle on the bed.

"Cool. What else do I need to get done?" he challenged. Geoff cocked an eyebrow.

"Talk to Ryan once you get settled, toss your extra shit in the trunk and dick around or whatever," Geoff tallied, and looked at his slate. "I gotta get these actually written down, give me your originals and I'll get them washed," he paused when Michael thrust that portion of the pile to him. Geoff's moustache twisted in disgust as he gingerly took it. "Just this once." With that, he spun and left.

Michael glanced around, and didn't hear anything moving up the stairwell or in the room at large. Through the door he hadn't already inspected there was a clattering and the occasional screaming, but largely a non threatening bustle. Michael threw himself down on 'his' bunk with a sigh. Humans were so weird, but these ones might be weirder than normal. The Duke and Gavin had been ready to see him as just another harmless well-meaning guy caught in winter, and, while Geoff and Griffon had been suspicious, they hadn't outright accused him of anything. Michael didn't know what to make of Ryan. He shook his head; no need to dwell on what the _stupid, ignorant_ humans thought of him, no amount of thinking would change how they treated him. Or Lindsay, for that matter.

He shuddered at the thought of his friend. These people didn't seem like they were terribly cruel or fucking deranged, most of them weren't anyway, but that might've just been because they thought he was a human. For some reason. It's not like he'd told them he was anything, though, but they seemed so sure without even asking. _Idiots_. Michael slid off the bed and started poking around. He didn't expect to spend much time in here, and since everyone else who was going to use it was out, it was as good a time as any to snoop. Michael's experience inside of buildings was limited to violence and just messing around up to this point, and those areas left one hell of a gap when it came to the mechanics of storage items.

Michael rifled through the few chests and shelves near to where he'd been put, completely ignoring the supplies Geoff had left him with. He didn't find much more than clothes, some people had those stupid book things, and most had at least a small knife in their stuff. In the middle of the room, across from the door to the outside, there were stacked clearly unused bunk components and linens. For all the keep was huge, it didn't look like lots of people worked in it right now. He shrugged; there might well be enough humans to staff it but a bunch of them could have opted to sylph this year. There kept being more floating through the woods. More sylphs meant more wraiths, though, and more humans trying to stay as far away as possible from anything that manifested in the winter. Humans were weird, though, and kept expecting actual people to go out of their way for them; to not kill them or to stop them from getting killed or whatever.

Thinking of Lindsay, though, Michael wasn't sure what he'd do when he ran into her. It didn't sound like she was in the keep, and Michael hadn't had any strange urges to find a big cat and pet it, so she was probably out with a group of them or something. When he did find her, though, what then? If he just straight up grabbed her and bolted the humans'd probably be little bitches about it and trap them both. He could try to sneak them out, but he bet Lindsay would've tried that already; she's smart like that. He'd have to do something, though. Not worth sticking it out with these people and their laundry and their eating and sleeping without doing _something_. Michael muttered something about pressing his luck and pulled his arms out from the shelves, walking back to his designated area and unkempt collection of garments. He might want to do something about them, blend in and shit. Naturally, that's when the door to the bustling room burst open.

Tumbling through the door was another human Michael hadn't met yet. They stumbled to one of the bunks, shouting "I don't know where we put it! That's why I'm looking!" back into the room. After a moment, the human snarled and spun on their heel to march back out. They stopped upon seeing Michael. "Hey, you're that, that new kid, right?" Michael shrugged.

"Who the hell else would I be."

"Great. Can you chop shallots?" the human asked, frantically giving the mess they'd been going through another pass.

"Uh, maybe?" he offered, still shrugging. The human gave a triumphant shout, grabbing a jar of something and bolting back out of the room, leaving the door swinging open for Michael to follow.

"I got it!"

"That's nice, Blaine, can you grab the bread out?" a second human replied automatically, working avidly at something on one of the counters.

"Sure thing!" Blaine replied, and took all of three steps over to the giant box next to the door. He opened the front, and heat unlike anything Michael had ever personally experienced wafted over him. Sure, Michael had set shit on fire and seen a couple of cottages burn, but he also usually stayed far away after the flame took. This was hot, and intentional, and he _loved it_.

"Hey, new kid, stop ogling the oven and get over there!" Michael jolted and crossed the room quickly. The human nodded at him.

"Welcome to my kitchen. I'm Trevor; I'd shake your hands but, I'm uh, covered in stuff." Michael looked down. Indeed, Trevor's hands were dusted with powder and he was repeatedly squishing something squishy. Fucking gross. "Grab that knife and get chopping," he pointed with his elbow to the pile of greens. Michael gripped the blade awkwardly, modelling the humans he'd seen trying to use one of them. Typically they were holding it to try to stab him, but... that's kind of what he wanted to do to the vegetables?

The first downstroke wasn't pretty. Neither were the second or third. "Motherfucker," he breathed, readjusting his grip on the shallots. Changing that angle didn't help, but Trevor was busy convincing Blaine not to do some stupid shit next to him and didn't notice. Well, probably not. Michael's luck hadn't changed a few slices later when he'd successfully minced and ripped huge chunks of the plants into a pile. "Fucking, cooking, or whatever, no goddamn point just a time-wasting boring-ass _bitch_ of a chore, fucking hell!" Trevor stopped chastising Blaine.

"Easy, there. You're holding the knife all wrong," he offered, and mimed a the suggestion for Michael's benefit. Awkwardly, he regripped the handle and suddenly getting the food into the right shape was significantly easier. It was still stupid, complicated, and annoying, but it wasn't so bad. Especially with the delicious warmth radiating from the... oven? washing over him. Then the blade slipped on the board. "Motherfu--!"

"Hey, calm down. You never done this?" Trevor asked gently, elbowing him as his hands were still covered. Michael shook his head, fuming.

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down." It was taking a great deal of effort not to remove this man's hand from his body. _Violently_. Cooking was stupid. "It's not that hard, and no one's gonna notice if it's not perfect; we're baking these into the bread," he motioned to the stuff he'd been shaping. "Gets greens into the Duke," Trevor added conspiratorially. Michael laughed. He wasn't sure what was supposed to be funny about that, but it was clearly a joke and he needed every excuse to not fucking stab something now that he had a weapon for the task. Tension diminished ever so slightly, he re-tried slicing the shallots. The knife held true, and the greens were severed cleanly.

"Okay, fine. Maybe it's not as bad as I thought. Maybe," he allowed, terse. Trevor grinned at him.

"You'll probably like the next bit," he mused and stepped away from Michael. "Bring those over here, and sprinkle them onto the dough." Michael walked over, clutching the little circles he'd made and the knife, and dumped it all onto the squishy brown stuff. Except the knife, though, Michael was keeping that. He could see why humans insisted on pointing them at him.

"Yeah, not quite what I meant but it works. So now--set down the knife you don't wanna stab the bread--just sorta punch it in. Gently." Punching gently wasn't really something Michael had a chance for, recently. Companionable fisticuffs with Lindsay didn't happen so much anymore what with her being _held fucking captive in some human bullshit_. Michael tried to recreate the light shoulder-tap that he'd remembered swapping with her a few times. The dough gave, splitting apart and some of the green chunks disappeared into it. Trevor laughed. Michael tried again.

"Like that, but try just doing it all connected instead of taking your hands off the bread," Blaine suggested from where he was carrying an armful of supplies from... somewhere on the other side of the room. Stupid far away shit. Regardless, he gave it a shot. The dough moved more smoothly, and alright, Michael was starting to really enjoy this. Maybe the food thing wasn't so bad.

Eventually Trevor and Blaine ran out of uses for him around the kitchen and sent him to sleep off some more of his injuries; their concern was almost touching. Michael barely felt twinges anymore, and even then only from where he'd taken most of the fall. Ignoring their tidings, he slipped back into the sleeping room and to his bed. Continuing to ignore the pile, Michael laid down. Might as well get used to the sleeping thing, too.

* * *

Michael blinked awake to a figure standing over him. "What the fuck do you want?!" The figure stepped back, and Michael recognised Griffon. "Paranoid lady," he muttered, and she grinned.

"We're coming up on dinner time, I thought I'd come get you," she offered sweetly. Michael groaned.

"Why do I get the feeling you're gonna threaten to rip my balls off and nail them to a wall. Through my face." Griffon laughed.

"Because you have a cunning sense of danger?" She offered him a hand up which, despite the threat she hadn't spoken yet, he took. He needed to either get used to the whole 'sleep' thing, or work out a way to avoid it without the others in the sleeping room noticing. It was way less fun than cooking; at least there he was actually doing shit. "C'mon douchebag, we're not even taking the long way." Michael stood, and brushed at imaginary dirt on the ill-fitting trousers he had neglected to change out of. That would've involved doing something with the pile of shit from Geoff that he had neglected to take care of. He'd get to it eventually.

"How're we getting... where?"

"No one give you a proper tour?" she teased. Shook his head. "Aww, did you get lost earlier, all alone in the new scary castle?"

"Fuck off." Griffon only laughed, as it had lacked the intended venom. Being inside was really harshing his game. She tugged him along, back through what felt just like a store room in the middle of the sleeping spaces, and out the middle door. Michael would feel annoyed at being drug around every which way, but he had to reconsider as she stepped out into the courtyard again. A chance to feel moving air, and see the cloud and snow that Michael associated with life and his solidity on this plane. Dazed, he hadn't noticed Griffon start speaking again.

"Sorry, what?" he interrupted. "I, uh, got distracted."

"I said," she paused for emphasis, "That while Jack may have decided you're nothing but a little wanderer pushing your luck, and his boys are wrapped so tight around his finger he might as well be wearing gloves, I won't hesitate to run you through." The threat was gentle, like she was consoling a child on a lost toy or a lost stick duel. "Couple of times, maybe," she added for good measure. Michael nodded. Definitely not a woman to fuck with. This was gonna make springing Lindsay that much harder. "You get me?"

"Yeah, I uh, got it, thanks. No funny business or you stab out my organs and shit and fucking laugh at my corpse when I don't even get the chance to bleed out."

"And make you scream like a little bitch first!" she added, swinging open the door on the opposite side of the courtyard and ushering him inside before her. Michael nodded absently as he took in as much as he could of the giant room he found himself in. There were a couple of tables set up, and on them he saw amongst the rest the few dishes he'd helped make. Right. Meals. This was gonna be weird. As he faltered in the doorframe, Griffon shoved him to the lefter of the groups, and slung herself into a seat at the other. Still hesitating, albeit a few feet farther into the hall, Michael's head snapped toward the door that had just been slammed open. Through it, Geoff charged in, dragging along Gavin who tumbled behind.

"I almost had it, just a few more minutes!"

"Gavin, if I have to come pry you out of that tower one more time..."

"But think about it, Geoff!"

"Yeah, and I'm done thinking about it, it's stupid and dumb."

"Geoff," he whined. The other man said nothing as he pulled out a chair at one of the tables and shoved Gavin into it.

"Answer's still no, dumbass." Geoff shook off whatever that conversation had been about and crossed to join Jack at the other table. "Hey, Michael, get your ass over here."

"Wh--"

Geoff pointed at the bench on the far side of the table. "Sit. Eat. Stop dicking around."

"Keep your fucking pants on," Michael spat and crossed over to perch on the bench.

"You'd know if they were off," Geoff countered with a wink. Michael shuddered. That was weak. Dishing a small amount of what was within reach onto his plate, Michael grabbed at the fork in front of him.

"I thought we agreed on pantsless wednesdays," Ryan sniped, ducking around Geoff to steal something off Jack's plate on his way to the other table.

"Hey!" the Duke called after him, leaning back in his chair. Michael smirked. That banter thing, wasn't going to be too much of a problem. Posturing aside, it was probably gonna be pretty fun, actually. Jack turned back to the table, and made eye contact with Michael. "Settling in okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he bit back, trying to chew on the beige thing he'd picked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, "weekly" in the depressed-college-student-on-summer-break dialect of English means "when I remember it and get feedback reminding me this exists".


	4. Chapter 3 - Challenging, adj., v.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring the continued appearance of Sgt. Exposition Griffon, Jack is still a bleeding heart, and Ryan channels general feelings of personal inadequacy into snark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now imagine I add something to this more frequently than yearly...
> 
> Update also includes some alteration to character and relationship tags, as well as a couple minor tweaks to the prologue (still something to skip unless you want really ham-fisted exposition from two years ago)

"I thought we agreed on pantsless Wednesdays," he mused, stealing half a roll from Jack's plate. He could find another one if it was important. Ryan slid into the open spot across from Griffon. She cocked her eyebrows as suggestively as possible; a gesture which Ryan returned in good faith. It quickly digressed into a game of motions and actions to confuse and disconcert the others at the table, which invariably ended in a draw.

"So, you brought in the new kid," Alfredo prompted.

"Yes, I did," Ryan acknowledged, and set in on his serving of the meal. Griffon sighed, and flicked a portion of a vegetable at him. He smiled at her in thanks and calmly stuck a fork in and ate it.

"Michael's really weird," Gavin cut in, exasperated.

"You talked to him for like, five minutes!" Ryan pointed his fork accusingly in Gavin's direction. The lad squawked, and batted it away.

"What, he was!" Gavin turned to address the table at large. "He didn't want to talk about himself and wouldn't answer any of my questions."

"To be fair," Ryan started.

"That's not exactly an _abnormal_ reaction to you, Gavin," Griffon elaborated around a mouthful of bread.

Gavin humphed. "Yes, I know, but he--"

"I can hear you, moron!" Michael shouted across the gap. Ryan smirked.

"So, Gavin, I hear you're on the verge of something?" Griffon redirected them. Any hurt from the exchange rolled off him as Gavin's eyes lit up and he prepared to jump into what would no doubt be a _very_ interesting and involved story.

"Not, say, something that already literally exploded in your face?" Ryan clarified. Griffon’s eyes narrowed; it was clear that she knew that he knew what she'd tried to do. He shrugged blithely; taking time out of his day to make fun of one of his lovers was par for the course. Gavin's shoulders wound in on themselves as he tried to shrink against the back of his chair.

"It wasn't that bad this time, I've almost got it down _perfectly_ and it won't even take as much to make it work once I'm done--"

"With what, regrowing your eyebrows?" Griffon sniggered. Ryan tilted his drink her way; wonderfully executed ribbing deserved recognition. Gavin squirmed even more. This was excellent.

"You know, last time you barely got _Jack_ to sign off on replacing the flooring in the tower with wood. Do you think you'll be more, or less likely to have Geoff agree to provide the resources to repair it if you sell him on stone?" he prodded. Gavin choked on his words for a moment.

"What's this 'you' business?! It was your fault last time, moron!"

Ryan raised his hands in a sign of peace. "Hey, I was just asking if you wanted to take some kind of precaution once you blow the floor out. Again."

"Gavin's blowing the floor?" Geoff interjected, to a chorus of laughter. Gavin's expression started to sour in earnest, however. Ryan sighed. There was only so far this sort of thing should be taken, he'd learned. It'd taken a lot of practice, and both negotiation and communication, but Ryan was now able to actually recognise when it was time to lay off. They might've just started hitting it.

"You're making progress, though?" 

Crisis averted, Gavin launched into an impressive monologue on what he'd been working on. He did have quite the skill with some areas of the magic he was trying to harness, but other components in addition to common sense were not among his strong suits. Ryan smiled into his tankard as Gavin attempted to regale him with some success story from that morning. The rest of the meal passed in kind, and once nearly everyone was down to residue and crumbs Jack stood and a hush spread over the residents.

"This is Michael," he started, and waved to the guy to identify himself. Awkwardly, Michael raised a hand and gave it a shaky wave, making eye contact around the room. Ryan grinned at him, winking the lid of his onyx eye. Its resident grumbled at the disturbance, and Ryan mentally shushed him. He was busy. "...Haywood found him last night, and I am allowing him to stay until midwinter passes to give him time to fully recover." The rest of the introduction probably wasn't important. Amidst the clattering of Jack reseating himself and a few volunteers scurrying to gather people's dishes, Ryan stood to drape himself over the bench adjacent to the recently introduced.

"Hey," Michael greeted, forcing down a portion of the meal he was still working on. Ryan nodded to him and looked across the table to the lovers he hadn't the chance to pester for the past quarter hour. Priorities.

"How's logistics?" he queried Geoff. The quartermaster glared at him.

"How's creeping around being a creepy fuck?" he countered. Ryan shrugged.

"I'll get back to you when that changes." Michael snorted at that, which broadened Ryan's grin. It was nice to be appreciated.

"Where're you putting Michael?" Jack asked loudly, stepping in before things could escalate. That wasn't very fun.

"I hear Trevor press-ganged him already, but I was planning on foisting him off on Ryan," Geoff said.

"With the injuries we found him covered in?!" Jack did not look happy. He looked kind-of aghast, actually, much to Ryan's own confusion. He'd been fine within hours, and if Ryan hadn't been the one to carry him in, he wouldn't be able to see the faint lines where cuts used to be.

"Yeah, injuries I don't have anymore!" Michael reminded everybody. Ah, good, Michael agreed with him.

"Exactly because of the injuries he came in with, I mean, he took _that_ , what more is a little guarding job?" Geoff had a point, and Ryan couldn't say he'd mind a shot at the kid. _5, 4, 3... 2..._

"Ryan, what do you think about this?" Right on time, Jack tried to make sure everyone was okay. Standard, that.

"Fine with me, should round out the shifts quite nicely." Griffon and Kerry--the two other guards still in the room--cheered on their way out. Fall staffing choices had not been met with unanimous joy and appreciation.

"That mean I get to fight shit?" Michael piped up. Well, maybe. If Ryan counted as shit.

"Depends on how close anything wants to get," he offered instead. He should probably not entice the mysterious fast-healing stranger to fight him. "We can sort out the specifics after you show me what you've got," Ryan added. Too late.

"Ryan--"

"The hell--"

"Where and when?" Michael cut off the voices of reason.

"You can't be serious," Jack protested.

Ryan, surprised, blinked at him before demanding, "Why not?"

"Because it's fucking stupid?"

Jack sighed. "Geoff does have a point,"

"Wait, can we stop for a sec? Get that notarized?"

"Did Jack just agree with Geoff on a manner of staffing?"

"I hate you assholes."

"Can you fucks calm down and make up your fucking minds?" All heads turned to Michael. "What, I don't give a shit about," he gestured vaguely at all of them. "...whatever, so can we like, get on with this?"

Another sigh heaved, Jack hung his head. "Alright. I don't like it, but as long as someone's watching, I can't stop you." He looked up, and met Ryan's eyes. "But we're talking about this."

"Acceptable," he agreed haughtily, but not without mirth. Jack hummed, disapproval evident in his body language. Ryan shrugged; there was nothing he could do to convince Jack that this was a good idea, especially when he didn't think that himself. His eye's resident was vehemently against the idea, though, and anything that pissed Edgar off instantly had more points in its favour.

Those who hadn't yet finished what they were going to eat had done so during the discussion, and soon the hall was restored to its pre-meal state. As he made for the armory with Griffon, Ryan was not surprised when a strong hand came down on his shoulder and another on the opposite arm. He waved her on when she started to smirk. Instead of shaking the two off and continuing on to actually _do his job_ , he asked, "Talking now?"

"Talking now," Jack confirmed, leaning over his shoulder. Geoff started walking to the stairwell, neglecting to let go of Ryan as he did so. When they came to the winding steps he was allowed to go under his own power. Someone needed to have a chat with Geoff about autonomy. Someone not Jack, though, and Gavin would probably mess it up enough that this little habit got worse. Ryan didn't want to do it either, actually.

Finally making it to the master suite, Ryan leaned against one of the chairs scattered around. Geoff instantly kicked off his boots and hopped onto the bed, settling in for the long haul. Ryan knew he wasn't going to be getting much support from his corner, but some faith might be nice. Jack, the last in, latched the door and sat in clear view of both men already settled. Ryan glanced at each of them, neither inclined to break the silence. He waited a few moments, until his growing antsiness got the better of him.

"So, about that talking to?" he tried. Jack just stared at him. "That only really works if you actually talk to me. Y'know, with your mouth. Words."

"Lay-off, jackass," Geoff griped, to which Ryan shrugged. Jack seemed to have finally had enough.

"What's the point of challenging him?"

Ryan blinked. "You mean, other than appraising his skills so I know what I've got to work with if we have to hold off something serious?"

"Which you could do just by sparring with him!" Jack insisted.

"Not so well, though." Geoff scoffed at that. Rude. Jack's frown intensified.

"You met the guy yesterday, covered in blood. I just don't want that impression to be clouding your judgment about him," the Duke supposed. "The odds that the blood was only his own are incredibly low."

"I know, I'm pretty sure most of it wasn't," Ryan defended, _None of it was_. For once, Edgar agreed with him.

"Then it's an even worse idea!" Jack threw his hands in the air. "You have no idea what he's capable of!"

"That's the whole point!" he protested. That and posturing. "If Jeremy was here, he'd be doing this too. You do realise that, right?"

Jack let out a pained sigh. "Yes, I do. But he's not, and that’s a big part of why I'm wary of letting you rush into this." It was Ryan's turn to exhale with vehemence. There were few things to infer from that statement.

"Thinking I'm not good enough at, well," he mimed an instance of melee combat in the air. "To execute this properly?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Jack said, a little too quickly. "Your expertise isn't this field, you excel in combative and defensive magic. That takes time and distance!"

"Except when it doesn't! I have a dozen attacks at the ready that just need a trigger word or for me to break open whatever they're stored in, and I’d need to have at least moderate arms proficiency or Griffon wouldn't take no for an answer while gunning for a promotion," he listed. "Have you forgotten I can do this?" 

Ryan's fist came down through the table beside him. It passed through the surface and came to rest in the middle of the board, leaving the top layer intact. A half moment's thought and concentration later, as he splayed his fingers, and the immediate area of the table disintegrated. Splinters and wood dust from the edges floated down to the floor. From their expressions, they actually might have. He flexed the joints again to get rid of the excess power. Ryan had pulled a little too much, but the other two didn't need to know that. "Really guys? It's been actual years."

"To be fair, you don't have the best track record with new people," Jack brought up. Not a bad save, but not a great one either.

"And we've already gotten past the 'new' stage! What's the big deal here?"

"I don't get what you want to prove with him." Oh. That's what Jack was upset about. Did he think Ryan felt inadequate? That's not what this was about. Well, not really, but that wasn't something to pull other people into.

"I'm not trying to prove anything with him, just to him--"

"You trying to show Michael what he's up against?" Ah, Geoff was following along; at least someone was tracking his plan. Ryan nodded.

"Why would you _need_ to do that?" Jack cried. Sometimes Ryan was perplexed that such a compassionate and trusting man had been made a vassal of the crown, even on the very edge of the civilized lands. Especially on the edge of those.

"In case he gets cold feet about staying here?" he offered, incredulous. Shouldn't that be obvious?

"I mean, sure we helped the kid, but--don't know if you've been listening to this part, Jack--he's not too happy about that bit? Keeps insisting he'd be fucking fine without our help?" Geoff tossed in.

"Precisely," Ryan finished, gesturing his way. There was that faith, after all. Jack fidgeted where he sat.

"Look, I just don't think it's such a good idea to go charging into this. Promise you'll set limitations before you start?"

Ryan held up his hands in nonthreatening surrender. He hoped. "Of course. Who do you think I am?"

"The same reckless asshole that traded his motherfucking eye with no guarantee of success or payout?"

"That worked!" He coughed. Well, mostly. There were some... side effects. "Besides, I don't want to hurt the guy, just see what he's made of."

"You just want to get roughed up a little," Geoff suggested. "Maybe take a _pounding_."

"Hey, that was uncalled for," Jack leapt to his defense. It was a sweet gesture.

"True, though," Ryan mused. At the looks from either lover, he shrugged. "What can I say, I'm attracted to power." Crossing the few feet separating them, he wound around to kiss Jack on the nose, fingers twining in his beard. "Don't think you're complaining."

* * *

Morning found Gavin sprawled across the middle of the bed, perpendicular to the three already lying there. Ryan lamented the opportunity lost were he to excuse himself from the setting, but acknowledged his duties and slipped out. The halls were always empty, this time of day and time of year.

Silently, he walked into the armory to see Griffon munching on one of the fruits from the deep stores. She offered him one, which naturally Ryan accepted, and he crossed to get down the inventory list. They tabulated supplies in companionable silence, until Griffon spoke.

"When're you going out again?"

Ryan shrugged. "In a week, maybe. Gotta get Michael all situated." 

She hummed. "You know Jack's gonna be pissed if wait too long, and Geoff if you go too soon."

"I can deal with and angry Geoff," he insisted. Griffon stared at him for a moment, the accusation plain. "Okay, maybe I can throw Gavin to the allegorical wolves and wait for it to blow over."

"And _then_ deal with the pouty Gavin when he catches on?"

He winced. "So maybe not that part." Edgar suggested that he _just couldn't choose which boy to disappoint next!_ "Fuck off," he added under his breath. Griffon either didn't hear, or ignored him; she was used to the asides he'd give the hanger-on more than any of the forementioned lovers.

As they worked, sounds of wakefulness permeated the lower level of the keep. The occasional crashing sound as someone failed to safely use the staircase right outside the armory, and the surprisingly minor bouts of profanity that could be heard through the cracks in the doors between the armoury and the kitchens as food was served. Ryan had just finished separating the 'needs repair' arms from the pieces that 'should be melted for nails', when the door was forced open by a ball energy incongruous with the man who'd been laid across the coverlet so recently.

"Good morning, Gavin!" he greeted him, looking back down at the weapons. The first pile was surprisingly large, though he had to give their users credit; the winter was still young.

"You weren't at breakfast! Neither of you!" 

Joy, screeching already. Griffon and Ryan exchanged knowing looks.

"It's not exactly a formal meal," he pointed out. "And it's hardly the first time." Griffon waved the remainder of the fruit she'd consumed at him.

"Besides, I was gonna splurge on midday. Can't say anything for him, though," she added. Gavin screwed up his face before exhaling and moving away from her and toward Ryan. Evidently Griffon was off the hook-- Ryan may not have helped himself as much as he'd hoped with that repeated-incident line.

"And you?" Gavin demanded. Ryan shrugged.

"I'd've had something eventually," he tried. Gavin's expression did not improve. There wasn't a lot Ryan could think of to do, then, so he stood there. Gavin seemed to have the same plan. Ryan hoped there wasn't something he wanted from him that he was supposed to infer. "Uh, Gavin?"

"What, Ryan?!" he spat. Oh, good, his face wasn't stuck like that. "Are you really that surprised to see me right now?"

"Yes?" Gavin was fuming. Great. "Do you- Do you want me to come to breakfast now?" he proposed, hopefully going for a safe offer. Gavin didn't get chew him out, and he took a break. Compromise. Gavin nodded curtly, and streaked out of the room. He sighed, and put down his lists.

"Fine to wrap up in here?" he asked Griffon. It seemed he was going to be collecting disapproving looks all week.

He caught up with Gavin just outside the kitchens. Before he was able to say anything in his own defence, however, a roll was being shoved into his hand. "Eat," was the explanation. Ryan did so, and when the bread was half gone he appraised his surroundings more thoroughly. The kitchens were wide open and Blaine and Trevor were scurrying around; joined by Michael. Geoff had said something about that the night before, Ryan just hadn't guessed it would be with this level of enthusiasm.

"Get a lot done, last night?" he asked Gavin once through with the roll.

"Yeah, no thanks to you lot."

"We waited up for you," he pointed out as he was handed more food.

"You waited up for me; Jack and Geoff were already asleep when I came in!" Gavin whinged. Ryan winced.

"Alright, fair, but Geoff's old and Jack's stressed."

Gavin scoffed. "And what are you?"

Ryan bowed low, sweeping his arms wide. "I? Naught but a spry, dashing, young lord!" He heard an unfamiliar laugh from within the kitchens; new but not unpleasant.

"Big words, coming from the guy about to get his ass kicked," Michael suggested, coming up to join them. Ryan quirked an eyebrow.

"Eager, are we?"

Michael shrugged. "When and where," he repeated.

"Soon and there," Ryan countered, pointing at the door connecting the antechamber and the courtyard.

"Should we go get Jack?" Blaine asked, frantic, before Trevor could rope him back into cleaning up from meal preparations.

"Probably," he mused. "Don't want to be the one that stopped him from watching." Beside him, Gavin nodded. Blaine loped to tell Trevor where he was going before heading off to assemble the Duke and others in the designated area.

"Happening now, I guess," Gavin muttered, finishing off what more he'd pilfered on his way away from the last meal. Ryan sighed.

"No point in delaying this," he admitted. As he moved to enter the courtyard, Michael waved them on to finish up something in the staff quarters.

They stepped out, and across the space he saw the salvageable pile he'd sorted through before being moved to the far side, being carried in by the two guards who hadn't had a hand in its selection. Shrugging, Ryan started to rifle through the bag he had on him, pulling at this and that, as doors opened and closed around him.

"We doing this or what?" Michael yelled across the courtyard, finally in some clothes that fit. To Ryan's eye, they fit quite well, and would do less to hinder his movement in the appraisal. Kerry and Alfredo had been egging Michael on to pick something from the selection of swords and the like that had been laid out, so they could put the rest away. From what Ryan could see, he'd steadfastly refused the lot of them, and instead ripped off his shirt. Ryan wasn't complaining.

"Just as soon as my liege gets his lazy ass into spectating position," he called back. Michael gave an exaggerated shrug on the opposite side of the open area. Ryan looked down at what he'd amassed, separated into piles to mirror and counter whatever Michael would be using. Seeing that he'd opted for only his fists, however, Ryan picked up a small handful of vials and decided to meet the interloper in kind. As he tied the finishing string over the vials such that they'd be accessible in battle, another one of the doors to the courtyard opened to allow the three of his lovers presently on the Duke's holdings entrance to the space. Alfredo and Kerry recognised their cue to remove the extra arms, and they did so before joining the rest of the staff on the sidelines.

Gavin squinted down at Ryan where he knelt on the dormant grass. "So what are you hitting him with?" Ryan tapped the row of potions, and the younger mage's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Only that?!" Ryan nodded, and grinned.

"Can't appraise much without an even playing field," he pointed out.

"Even with..." Gavin trailed off. "Y'know." Well. Someone didn't need reminding.

"My _special friend_?" Ryan tried to make the phrase as salacious as he could. At Gavin's retching, he turned to face Michael, yelling, "Anything else you'd like?"

"I'm good, we finally doing this fucking shit?"

Ryan crossed to the middle of the courtyard, and Michael walked to meet him. On the sidelines, the Duke and entourage had joined the off-duty guards to watch. "Three rounds, nonlethal damage, a round's over when you tap out or you're down for a twelve count," he projected so those gathered could also hear. Michael nodded. "Take three paces back that way," he pointed, "and I'll call the start." They separated, and while Ryan knew full well the level of trepidation his lovers would experience, all he could think was how _this is gonna be fun._ "Round one!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief summary of the middle cut: "...and then they had sweet fluffy relationship affirming sex that Gavin barges in in the middle of after like, everyone's done and they make fun of him being late because no one is nice to anyone else ever."


End file.
